


my blood, you don't need to run

by liquidsky



Series: know the sound of your heart [2]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Gen, talking about feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 12:19:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18468841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liquidsky/pseuds/liquidsky
Summary: In which being a vampire seems to require all the help one can get, so James really is lucky that Fraser is such a good friend.





	my blood, you don't need to run

**Author's Note:**

> i had like, a whole project that i was supposed to have worked on today, but instead i wrote this: two thousand words of james and fraser being super fucking soft, for no other reason than that this has been on my mind since i wrote the first part, and i kept thinking of how maybe i'd need more than one person to feed on if i ever got suddenly turned into a vampire. you know, basic rational thoughts to have every day.

“You like Alex more than me,” Fraser states from where he's sitting with his legs crossed on James’ bed. It's a familiar setting, one they've shared a gazillion times over the year they've lived together, but the usual comfort of their easy companionship is sort of lost in the face of James’ inconvenient blood hunger. 

“I don't,” James argues, and it's true. His feelings for Alex exist on a whole different sphere – separate, frequently overwhelming and currently unbearably awkward. His relationship with Fraser, who is staring at the side of James’ face with an expression way too outraged for what was ultimately a kind refusal, is way less complicated. They're best friends, in the most simple sense of the word, sharing silence and daily rituals and the everpresent weirdness of being alive without so much as a second thought. Which is why James had said no, and why Fraser is now pulling a bitch fit and resorting to cheap emotional manipulation. 

“Then why don't you drink from me as well?” Fraser asks him, and it's a fair enough question, in all honesty, but James doesn't quite feel like sharing the gruesome details of his last (and only) feed on Alex just yet. It's been four days – 96 hours of avoiding each other's eyes and falling into awkward lulls in conversation, and James has been in the throes of an absolute internal freakout every minute since. 

It's been looking more and more as though he can't catch a break, actually. Falling victim to really fucking scarring violence was bad enough without the prospect of an eternity-long gay freakout tagging along. That's immortality for you, James guesses. And because he's been trying his best to dodge Alex and the clusterfuck of overwhelming feelings that come forth in his presence, and also because the internet had let him know in no uncertain terms that no human could resist being fed on with less than a 5-day interval, he's hungry. Unbearably fucking starving, all shaky and bordering on murderous, but he's not–he’s not feeding on Fraser. 

“You do know I could kill you, right?” James asks him, clenching his fists to try to stop his hands from shaking. 

“Is this your way of telling me you don't love me?” Fraser inquires, adjusting his glasses higher on his nose to give James a very pointed look, “Because I read all the same fucking websites you did, mate,”

James huffs, “I love you,” he assures Fraser, who rolls his eyes in response, “For fuck's sake, why are you being so difficult about this?” 

“You're the one being difficult,” Fraser tells him, his voice going high, “You haven't fed in four days and you keep shaking like a fucking heroin addict or something,”

“I have it under control,” James says, frowns when Fraser scoffs at him. 

“You absolutely fucking don't,” Fraser responds, “Also you look dead,”

“That's because I _am_ dead, fuckface,” James argues.

“That's not–don’t say that,” Fraser says, and James almost wants to cheer with how easily he seems to have made Fraser uncomfortable before he notices the weird solemn look twisting his features. It makes him pause, swallow his gloating, “I meant that you just, you look like you've been struggling, and I want to help,”

James sighs, runs his hand through his hair and looks down. It suddenly feels like way more charged a moment than he expected, and he was so caught in his own tragedy that he didn't stop to think about how it might affect those around him. Or at least those who aren't Alex, with the heavy guilt he's been so loudly carrying around his shoulders. Fraser, he notices in retrospect, has possibly been lifting his fair share of emotional weight as well, living with James and his recent transformations, but he hasn't acted any different from the usual, except for now. 

“Sorry,” James tells him, and Fraser nods. “I know you want to help, but it's just,”

“Just what?” Fraser asks when James pauses and can't seem to settle on anything to say next. 

“It's personal, and a lot to ask,” he decides on, and it sounded like a good enough excuse in his mind, but Fraser doesn't seem to be having it. 

“Mate, I do your laundry, I have literally folded your fucking _underwear_ before,” he points out, “And I'm offering.”

“Fraser,” James starts, is immediately interrupted,

“For fuck's sake, asshole, just let me do it,” he insists, carries on speaking before James can try to continue talking him out of it, “You're my best mate and you're struggling and I know that you think it's personal or dangerous or whatever the fuck else but I _want_ to do it, I can't just sit around and do nothing while you're in pain,” 

It gives him pause. He can hear the fast beating of Fraser's heart and the off-key pattern of his breathing just as loudly as he can his words, and it's touching, the clear insistence in the cadence of his voice. Not for the first time since he's turned, he finds himself wondering how the fuck he ended up with people who care about him as much as Fraser does. 

He sighs, “Fine,” he tells him, watches as Fraser sits up against the headboard with a winning smile, “but you're holding the crucifix,”

“ _Alex_ didn't have to hold the crucifix,” Fraser argues, which is pretty inaccurate – Alex _did_ have to hold the crucifix, even if he ended up discarding it completely by the end of it. James is not sure _how_ Fraser knows that he didn't get around to using it, though, is unsure on whether he should even ask. 

“He did,” James tells him, and Fraser narrows his eyes. 

“Not for long.”

James squints back at him, “How would you know?” 

“Seriously?” Fraser asks, and James should have guessed that Alex would've said _something_. He almost doesn't want to ask, reckons maybe it's better to feign ignorance instead of just biting the bullet, but he's also not that strong. 

“Ok, what did he tell you?” James says, finally, and Fraser shrugs. 

“Just that he didn't hold on to it for long,” says Fraser, and James barely has time to hope that his question didn't raise any suspicion before Fraser is tilting his head, eyes going sharp, “Why? Was there anything else to tell?” 

“No,” James says, way too fast, “Nothing happened,”

Fraser snorts, “That's not suspicious at all,”

“Fine, something happened,” James admits, “but we're not talking about it.”

“You and Alex?” Fraser asks, and James can't tell if he's being thick on purpose. 

“You and me,” he clarifies, and Fraser raises his eyebrows,

“Come on,” Fraser says, and again, it's fair: they talk about pretty much anything, the two of them. The five of them, actually, even if James hasn't talked to Alex about this and isn't currently feeling like he ever will. 

“It was nothing,” James tells him, “We had a bit of a moment, is all,”

“What does that _mean_?” asks Fraser, and James kind of wants to rip his own tongue off. 

“We uh, we kind of–” and pauses. James doesn't think anyone actually uses the word frottage in real life, and maybe using it will reveal a bit much of the exact depth of his panicky binge–researching, but it's not like he has any other way of explaining that he and Alex basically rubbed off on each other and came in their pants, so he's kind of a loss here. 

Fraser is looking at him, very obviously impatient but still not interrupting, so James settles for being as vague as possible, “We hooked up,”

“Like,” Fraser starts, scrunches up his nose, “Fully fucked you mean?” 

“Not _fully_ fucked,” James says, sort of hates that his voice goes significantly higher with embarrassment, “There were uh, clothed orgasms,”

“Ok,” Fraser says, enunciating the word very slowly like he didn't just _ask_ for the information, “That's–ok,”

“Yeah,” James says, “Things have been kind of weird since then,”

“It’s Alex,” Fraser tells him, “You _could_ just talk to him.”

“And say what?” James asks, “I didn't even know I could still get hard.”

“You learn something new every day,” says Fraser, “For example, I didn't know you liked guys,” he adds, and James sighs. 

“Guess the bite also turned me gay,” James says, and Fraser just stares at him, so he adds on, “Bad joke,”

“No shit,” Fraser agrees, but he snorts anyway. “I take it you didn't know either?” 

“Not guys,” James says, wonders if he should really say what he's about to. Fraser looks at him, gaze curious, a small smile playing on his lips. James sighs, “Just Alex,”

“Oh, _gross_ ,” Fraser complains, and James grabs a pillow to throw at him, misjudges his strength and nearly causes the headboard to break when Fraser manages to dodge just in time. “Sorry,” he says, but he's laughing, so James rolls his eyes at him. 

“Yeah, yeah,” James says, “laugh it up,”

Fraser, like an asshole, keeps laughing, and James flops backward onto the bed to stare at the ceiling, “You're the worst person I know,”

“You _love_ me,” Fraser says, “I mean, not as much as you love Alex, but–”

“Fuck _off_ ,” James interrupts him, lifting his hand to grab one of Fraser's ankles and give it a squeeze. Fraser yelps, and James snorts.

“This is abuse,” he says. Then, “Is that why you didn't want to bite me? Afraid you'd get a boner?” 

James turns on his stomach to glare at him, “As if,”

“First you say you don't love me, now you're calling me ugly,” Fraser says, way too annoying for his own good, and James reaches up to poke him in the side. Fraser bats his hand away.

“I'm not calling you ugly,” says James, and Fraser huffs, 

“Didn't you just say I couldn't give you a boner?” 

“That's–” James starts, thankfully realizes the idiocy of whatever argument he was about to spew before the rest of the sentence leaves his mouth, “Do you _want_ to give me a boner?” 

“No,” says Fraser, “Thanks,”

James pulls a face, “Wasn't offering,” 

“Thanks anyway,” Fraser tells him, the corners of his mouth curved up in a smile that he's pretending is not there. James shoves his face against the mattress, and they sit in silence for less than a minute before Fraser speaks again,

“Ok, so how do we do this?” he asks. 

James looks up at him, “Are we doing it?” 

“I mean, 'm not offering to get off with you, but–”

“I'm going to kill you,” James cuts him off, shoots him a glare. 

Fraser smiles, “Kinda harsh,” he says, “You know, considering.”

“You're the one who offered,” James argues, as if Fraser hadn't spent over an hour trying to convince James that feeding on him would be a fine enough idea. He's being an idiot on purpose, and it's infuriating as shit, but at least it's normal. 

“Yeah,” Fraser agrees, stands up to lounge next to the bed, “Let's do this,”

So James stands up too, and their similar height is a surprising advantage when he leans into Fraser's space, places one of his hands on Fraser's waist. Fraser sighs, a cold puff of air against the side of James’ face, 

“You're right,” Fraser says, and James forces himself to freeze, tense over the prospect that Fraser might have realized that he can't do this after all. It's agony, holding himself still when he can so clearly hear the blood coursing through Fraser, and James is caught in the most uncomfortable ten seconds of his day until Fraser snorts, “This is kinda gay,”

James looks up at him, face a touch too close to his, and it's weird that he gets to hear as Fraser swallows around nothing, very obviously flustered by the lack of distance, “You're forgetting the crucifix,” James remembers, “Also, don't be an asshole,”

Fraser blushes, tries to play it cool by leaning away from James to shove his hand inside the drawer on James’ bedside table, and James has to resist the urge to laugh. 

“Here,” he says, then, holding the crucifix in one hand and balancing himself on the headboard with the other. James touches his waist again, curves his fingers around Fraser's sweatshirt and takes a step closer. 

Fraser swallows, “You're doing this on purpose,”

“Doing what?” James smiles – he is absolutely doing it on purpose, and it's far too hilarious to stop. He pushes his face against Fraser's neck, huffs out a laugh when he feels him shiver. 

“You absolute tosser,” he says, voice sounding choked. James laughs against his throat, and Fraser curses under his breath. 

“You're too easy to rile up, man,”

“Says _you_ ,” argues Fraser, and James bites the skin of his neck softly. “Just fucking do it already,”

And so James does – Fraser's heart speeds up ridiculously when James’ fangs pierce through the skin, blood gushing straight to James’ mouth as a result, and James pulls him closer with a hand on each side of Fraser's body when he tries to take a step back on instinct. 

It's good. Just as good as Alex's was, sweet and heavy and exactly what he wanted, but the pleasure simmering in his stomach is a different one, less urgent, not sharp or blinding, instead soft, warm like coming home to burrow under the duvet after a busy day at Uni, like slightly burned toast and shared laughter. It's not wanton, not as obvious, but still every bit as lovely, and he feels happy as Fraser sighs, body relaxing against James’ like he too can feel the gentleness of whatever's taken over them. 

James allows his fangs to retract when Fraser taps him in the side with the hand that's not holding the crucifix, leans away from him to breathe through his nose. He's full, comfortable and sated in a way that feels almost familiar, and Fraser lets the crucifix fall to the floor, sits down on the bed and touches a hand to the closing wound on his neck. 

“Are you ok?” James asks, and Fraser glances up at him. He looks pale, and James starts to worry that maybe he's drunk too much, but Fraser nods, then, a quiet grin gracing his lips. 

“All good,” he says, voice weak, “But you're making me dinner,”

James smiles back at him, listens to the beat of his heart, the soft sound of his exhales. 

“Sure,” he says, “What are you having?”

**Author's Note:**

> the title is a line from the song _my blood_ by the _twenty one pilots_. i decided to name the series after a line in _the sound_ by _the 1975_ because i saw both of them live last weekend at lollapalooza and it was literally the best time ever. also, they're james' favorite bands, so it feels kind of perfect. 
> 
> as usual, this is unbeta'd, so feel free to let me know in the comments if you spot anything out of place here. i endlessly appreciate comments and kudos, and if anyone wants to hang out, i'm [unhawkeye](www.unhawkeye.tumblr.com) on tumblr.


End file.
